


Peppermint, Ginger, Peach

by Shining_star_rae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: I am in the process of learning German, I apologies to all who know German, NOT a Hogwarts Mystery story, OC and Dumbledor are friends, OC is WORSE, OC is chaotic good, OC refuses to acknowledge this fact, Once they graduate, Other, Self-Insert, and learn the Patronus as a First-Year, and when I say 'in the process', except not really, i mean i literally only just started learning, it just involves some of the characters from it, so I'm mainly using this story as a way to practice German, the Hogwarts Mystery cast are good older mentors, they are actively encouraging OC to go into the Forbidden Forest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-12-27 08:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21115601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shining_star_rae/pseuds/Shining_star_rae
Summary: Ada Carter woke up on a sunny Tuesday morning and realized three things with acute clarity:1. She had lived an entirely different life before this one.2. She was now three years old.3. At some point in the night, her three year old body had needed to use the bathroom.Needless to say, Ada did not take this well.





	1. Peppermint, Ginger, Peach

It was probably ten minutes into the conversation when my parents realized they had been making a rather large mistake. For the past eleven years.

“If I understand this correctly- the both of you have known your daughter was a witch for the past ten years? Yet did not feel inclined to inform each other of this fact?” The woman in the green velvet robes raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Sipping on my milk, I watched my parents squirm uncomfortably. Both refused to look at each other, or at me, or really anything at all. It made it rather hard to keep a straight face. On their own they were such strong, independent individuals, but together? They really did share one brain cell. And it was currently lying on the floor.

When neither answered Professor McGonagall-who wow, was really sitting in my house as a living, breathing person-I slowly put my cup down, and looking her in the eyes with as much seriousness as I could muster (admittedly not a lot, this really was far too amusing) and said, “Ja. Well, nein. It’s actually been eleven years.”

If possible, her eyebrow rose higher. “I see. And you’ve been aware of this fact.”

“Mm-hmm, for as long as I can remember, Professorin McGonagall.”

“And you thought not to mention it to either of them?”

“Well, you see,” _keep it together, Ada, keep it together. Stop biting your lip, “_whenever I tried, they would…they would immediately shush me. So it’s really not my fault. Communication has never been their strong point, ja?”

The pressure in my chest rose up like a great beast railing for freedom.

“Lach nicht, Ada.” My father had finally composed himself, sitting to his full height. I bit my lip even harder under his narrow gaze. “Ich wage dich zu lachst.”

My mother put her head in her hands. “Oh my god.”

Professor McGonagall swept her eyes over us. “Then I can assume you all know why I’m here?”

“Probably for Wizarding school, richtig?”

My father twitched, hunching back over, my mother was now cradling her head in her arms. I smiled innocently.

“Indeed,” she said slowly. “I am the Headmistress of the wizarding school Hogwarts, though I’m sure you’ve heard of it-“

“I have not, Professorin.”

She blinked slowly. “I see. And yet you are aware you’re a witch.”

“That would be correct, ja.”

Her finger tapped our circular dining table. It was really a rather nice table; passed down from my mom’s side of the family. Sturdy. Dependable. The kind of table where everyone was on equal footing. The perfect table for minor breakdowns. I continued to bite my lip, hoping my shaking shoulders were not very noticeable. My father’s glare indicated otherwise.

The silence stretched between us, tension ever mounting.

“Perhaps you could elaborate, Miss Carter?”

Clearly Professorin McGonagall had deemed me the most capable person in the room. This was truly a wonderous day.

“Well, I know about Ilvermorny and that there are other wizarding schools around the world and in the community, but I don’t know their names.”

“Just Ilvermorny?”

“Ja.”

“The wizarding school in America?”

“That would be correct.”

“Miss Carter,” McGonagall began, “you live in _Germany_. How on earth do you know about Ilvermorny?”

I cast a look at meine Mutter. She was still hunched over the table, blonde hair coming out of its bun. Then I glanced at mein Vater, who looked just as curious as Professorin McGonagall. Should I, or shouldn’t I? That was the question.

Well, the air between my parents needed to be cleared anyway. Eleven years was a very unhealthy amount of time to be keeping secrets.

“Meine Tante is a no-maj born. Ilvermorny is where she went to school.”

“Bullshit.” My father had wide eyes and was staring at my mother. His hands were clenched.

Should I be finding this amusing? No, not really. But I had decided on the day of my rebirth that I was going to be the ultimate Wild Child. Completely unpredictable, unhealthy obsessed with Exposing people (though not if they were in anyway going to be harmed), playing games that no one else knew were going on, and-oh god. I sounded like a psychopath.

“No, what’s bullshit is that you are literally from a wizarding family!” Ah. There’s meine Mutter’s fighting spirit.

“When did I say that?!” My father’s jaw was dropped, and he was leaning back in his chair. I would be shocked to if I was in his position. My mother really knew how to hit the nail on the head.

“It’s implied by the fact you don’t have any siblings, or cousins, that I know of! Meaning you must be from a wizard family in order to know about magic!”

“Bullshit!” They were both standing now, hands on the table, leaning towards each other’s faces.

“Tell me I’m wrong!”

God, I wanted popcorn. This was like a romcom.

“I mean, you’re right, but you didn’t have to say it like that!”

I shared a look with Professor McGonagall, who I noticed was looking far more tired, and far more amused, than when she had arrived. I nodded solemnly at her, then went to go put on the kettle.

“Oh, I’m right, am I?!”

“Why are you even more mad?!”

“You never told me you were a wizard!”

“I’m not!”

“Bullshit!”

“I’m not!”

“Then what are you?”

“A human I should hope,” I interrupted sagely.

“ADA!” They both screamed at me

I blinked slowly at them. “I think we should all calm down and let Professorin McGonagall continue trying to recruit me for Hogwash.”

“Hogwarts,” she corrected.

“Richtig, that’s what I said.”

She cleared her throat. “Would you allow me to continue, Mr. and Mrs. Carter?”

They glared at each other-brown eyes against brown eyes.

“Please,” meine Mutter said demurely, sinking gracefully onto her chair, “continue.”

McGonagall gave a sharp nod.

“Hogwarts is a boarding school located in the Scottish Highlands. There are four houses that students are sorted into- Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor.” She glanced at me. “While at Hogwarts, students undergo a rigorous learning program equipping them with all the knowledge necessary to enter the wizarding world after graduation as successful individuals.

“There are seven grades, in which all have required, core classes, though beginning third year, optional classes are incorporated into student schedules. The staff have gone through thorough background checks and are highly skilled individuals,“ the corner of her mouth twitched as she said this, as if she very much wanted to frown at the thought of what she’d just said. “The Headmaster is Albus Dumbledore, who has worked at Hogwarts for over 50 years.”

“Fünfzig?”

“Ja,” my dad looked at my mom warily. “Dumbledore is a war hero. Fought against one of the most powerful wizards of the modern time.”

“When was that?!”

“1930’s? 1940’s?”

“It was through both decades,” McGonagall confirmed. I went to get the Kettle from the stove. I’m so glad the only table for sitting at was in the Kitchen. It’d be so sad if I couldn’t hear the conversation.

“Christ, how old is this dude?”

“Old.”

“Thank you, Michael.” He made a face at her.

“So, we’re just going to overlook the fact there was a wizarding war going on at the same time as World War II? Ja? Okay, just checking.”

My mother’s face scrunched up at me, “There’s only so much I can handle right now. Sarah never mentioned a war to me.”

“As I was saying,” Professor McGonagall interrupted sharply. “The term begins September 1st. Because you are…_primarily_ a muggle family, there will be an escort to take you to Diagon Alley. Are there any questions.”

I raised my hand.

“Yes, Miss Carter?”

“Right, so Hogwarts is in Scotland, so how come I’m being recruited? I mean, I live in Germany for one, two, I know that there are wizarding schools in the area, so why me? And why should I even go to Hogwarts? Like, what’s your selling point?”

“Hogwarts has a book that contains all the eligible wizards and witches born in the United Kingdoms. I had assumed you were born there before coming to Germany.” My parents shared a glance before looking sharply back at Professor McGonagall.

“This has occurred many times before, so it is not unusual to recruit in other European countries. As for there being other community schools for you to learn at-Hogwarts has been ranked as one of the top Wizarding schools in the world. It is the oldest, and thus has spent centuries longer perfecting academic curriculum's, it is a safe haven to many, and was ranked number one for several years in a row as the school that turned out the most influential individuals for modern times. This is not to say that the community schools are in any way incapable of providing a rounded learning experience, but statistics show that, due to the fact most students who attend community schools are muggle-borns, students who attend such schools integrate back into muggle societies, hardly ever using their magic. This is both unhealthy for magic users and brings a lack of diversity of thought into wizarding circles.

“Hogwarts can teach you to use your magic to full capacity, in a healthy, safe way while increasing the diversity in the Wizarding World.” She paused before saying, “We want you to attend, Miss Carter, because you deserve the highest quality of education.”

We stared at each other and I noticed that I was standing taller.

Her focus was averted to my parents who started asking about costs and holidays. As I finally sat down, having poured the tea during McGonagall’s speech, I thought about her words. The fact of the matter was this-it was currently 1990. I might have one year of superb education before Harry Potter began attending Hogwarts-fucking things up for everyone academically. This was assuming Harry existed in this world, which all things considered, was likely. And did I really want to get caught up in a war? I didn’t even know if I was good at magic. What would I have to offer? Who would I be friends with? What if something happened to my parents?

And yet-

Hogwarts was the only school that I _knew. _I had an advantage over many. I knew the teachers, quite a few of the students. I knew its real history, with Newt Scamander, Grindelwald, the Founders, Tom Riddle, even Merlin. My childhood in another world was shaped by these characters, did I really want to abandon the very real, living people when I could do something to help them?

“We’ll talk it over and send a letter to you shortly, Professor,” meine Mutter was saying from the hallway.

“Very well. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

With that, the door closed. Meine Mutter subsequently rounded on my Vater. I could feel myself beginning to smile. One way or another, I could always rely on my parents to never change.


	2. Peanut, Honig, Butter

The next few days went as follows:

Meine Mutter learned that mein Vater is a squib from a prominent wizarding family back in the U.K. Neither of us knows which family because dad refuses to say. What he did tell us is that my Großvater had left me, or rather any magical children dad might produce, a rather scrumptious bank account in Gringotts. On the assumption I would go to Hogwarts.

We then sent a letter to Professor McGonagall, by post, saying I would, in fact, be going. A letter returned shortly after by owl, instructing us to wait a week before a representative would arrive to take us to Diagon Alley.

Then we waited and waited. And waited some more.

When the poor fool arrived, Mama had built a large house made of glass cups in the front yard to calm her anxiety (architects, honestly), Papa had gone out and replaced all the cups in the house with outlandish ones, two cakes had been made (and consumed), I had repainted the living room a periwinkle color (at 2 in the morning), and unser Familie now owned a dog heißt Louis. We do not know where the dog came from, only that two neighborhoods over, someone had lost theirs.

In any case, our representative was a man in his mid-thirties. He introduced himself as Andy McNuller, proud graduate of Hogwarts. Mr. McNuller was perfectly charming and well put together for all of thirty seconds - then I opened my mouth.

“So, Mr. McMullet-” I began. His face twitched

“McNuller.”

“Richtig, that’s what I said.” His face twitched again. In the living room I could hear my mother looking for the house keys, a mission made near impossible by Louis bouncing around her legs, and upstairs I heard mein Vater stomping around in the bathroom. Why they decided to leave me alone with Andy I could only guess. It was bound to make him abandon us out of desperation.

“How are we getting to Diagonal alley?”

“Diagon Alley,” he corrected.

“Richtig, that’s what I said.” His fingers tightened around the Pinocchio cup my father had found at a garage sell. “Are we taking a boat? An airplane? Ich möchte nach London fliegen. I hope it’s not Apparation though, Meine Tante says it’s a rather horrid experience.”

Andy McNuller scrunched up his eyebrows. “I was under the impression you came from a Muggle family?”

“That would technically be true, ja.” I did not feel the need to expand on the subject.

“…Right, well, we will be taking a wizarding transportation system to the London airport, from there we will use the Floo Network.”

“Okay, but like, what wizarding transportation system?”

“Well-”

“Also, there’s the Floo Network in the London Airport? That’s really rather quite progressive of your sort. I’d never expect it. Do a lot of wizards and witches use the Airport?

“Wait a second. What do you mean about-”

“I suppose it’s really more for the No-maj borns isn’t it?” I plowed on despite his protests. “Oh wait, most Europeans call us muggles-borns, don’t they. It does flow off the tongue rather well. But back to my point-well, main point-what’s the transportation we’ll be using to get to the London airport? Is it a type of plane that was made by wizards? Oh! Is it a flying carpet? Wait no those were banned a while ago weren’t they?” I muttered this last point to myself. Even though I didn’t remember absolutely everything that occurred in The Books, I did remember an argument between Mr. Weasley and some other dude about flying carpets.

Fortunately for Andy McNuller, meine Mutter entered, coming to stand beside him before I could add anything else. The frazzled look (and was his hair standing on end, did magic react to your emotions even as you got older?) eased as he looked at her. Then his fingers retightened on the cup as my mother spun the housekeys around her finger, almost hitting him in the head.

“Found them!” She declared. “They were on the hook by the door the whole time. Your dad’s coat was covering them.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” said the man in question, entering through the other doorway. He looked quite cleaned up in his anzug. Which was really quite unnecessary, and he was bound to start sweating in it, but really, who was I to point that out? “What were we talking about?”

“Your incompetence at putting your jacket in the right place,” I replied delicately.

“Don’t be a little shit, Ada,” the adults said fondly. Well, the adultier adults of the room. Andy McNuller didn’t count. He worked for the _government _after all.

“Um-perhaps it would be best if we leave. The Air blimp is supposed to take off in an hour.”

“An air blimp/an hour, Mr. McNuller why didn’t you say so earlier?” My Mutter and I paused in our actions, looking suspiciously at each other.

“Richtig,” said my Vater, “Best to get on with it.”

And on with it we got.

Andy McNuller did in fact abandon us about twenty seconds after we stepped foot into Diagon Alley, all but shoving the shopping list into meine Mutter’s hands. With a quick promise that he would be back in vier stunden at most, he turned on his heel, disappearing like a ghost disappears before a priest. Spooky like.

Before that though, the magical flying blimp had been very spectacular. It was apparently a semi-new creation-in use for 20 years- by a French muggle-born witch, Lucy Santerre, funded by ihre wealthy, world-traveling wife, Priscila Kokot. Lavishly decorated on the inside, there were plenty of sitting ‘rooms’ to choose from-the rooms themselves were made from brightly colored hanging draperies laced with silencing and expansion charms. There was space for people to walk around, either to gaze out the windows or to look at the Fotographie-wizarding Fotographie of course-done by Priscila Kokot herself. Andy McNuller had informed us, practically jumping in his seat, that Lucy Santerre’s invention was in the top einhundert world-wide wizarding advanced technologies that incorporated muggle technology and magic. This was particularly fascinating to me because in The Books it had always seemed as if the Wizarding World was stuck in the middle ages-with candles and lack of phones and what-not.

I directed quite a bit of questions at Mr. McNuller himself, who, despite seeming very interested in the subject of wizarding technology, could not provided me with any real answers and soon became quite overwhelmed. Meine Eltern, mostly meine Mutter as mein Vater _had _been raised in a Wizarding home, did not help with their questions on how the Blimp was constructed, how es stayed hidden from Muggle sight, who the Pilot was (an older Gentleman who stated he was neither a Muggle or a wizard when I accidently bumped into him on the way from the bathroom-of which there was only one but it was incredibly big-and had asked, leading me to believe that he was a werewolf who used to be a Muggle or is some sort of magical creature capable of disguising himself as a human). And of course, if this transportation was used by every wizard traveling internationally.

It was not, due to the fact Pureblood societies (aka most of the wizard governments, especially in London) did not like the mixing of magic with muggle tech, and that, though Santerre intends to distribute the _Couleurs élancées _blimp company world wide, there were several kinks in paperwork that had to be worked out. Not to mention it was not yet capable of long term (more than six hour) flights. When Mr. McNuller began drumming his fingers on his legs, eyes darting over the room as if looking for an exit that would not open for at least vierzig more minutes, I had gotten up to go talk with the portrait of Lucy Santerre herself. She was currently in her early fifties, but the portrait had been done in her thirties, when her ‘hair was still a light brown at the roots, and my hazel eyes did not show as much contempt for paperwork’. Her words, unprompted.

This led to her encouraging me to write everything down anyway, no matter what, because if some ‘old crones’ ever tried to come after me, I would have back up after back up to prove them wrong and embarrass them publicly. Apparently, this is what happened to her early in her career, and-well, let’s just say Priscila Kokot’s family was not one to mess around with. Our discussion quickly turned to technology in the wizarding world and how yes, most of it was still candlelit and no one was even bothering trying to change it because the candle industries were assholes who quickly bought inventions from creators for thousands of galleons and thus proceeded to not sell them in the market. It was quite unfortunate that this was the case for most muggle-magic technology that was created, including the ones in the top einhundert world-wide wizarding advanced technologies list. Lucy Santerre herself had almost been bribed to sell her reinvention of the blimp by a wizard traveling agency, and it was when she had refused, gotten _Couleurs élancées _patented, that the ‘old crones’ had begun coming after her.

She was quick to inform that while many industries did this, more and more half-bloods, muggle-borns, and even some pure-bloods who ‘did not have their heads up their asses, thank god’ (her words), were banding together world wide in an effort to implement more advanced creations. Not just in traveling or home life, but in wizarding hospitals, where there has been little development for at least two centuries and some decades.

Shortly thereafter, I said goodbye to Lucy Santerre as the blimp landed at the London airport-which was a lot less spectacular and far more crowded. Andy McNuller lead us valiantly through the crowds of people going on vacation or coming back from vacation, sweat beading in his brown-red hair, to the Floo Network. Er taught meine Mutter and I how to use it before going through, cleaned up mein Vater’s puke (due not just from the spinning rapidly and landing on sein ass, but also from sein sakko trapping in all of the heat from the airport and Blimp. (Ich sagte, er würde heiß warden.)

And that is when Andy McNuller promptly said ‘Auf Wiedersehen’.

It was one thing to see Diagon Alley as it was in The Movies, but it was quite another to actually be standing in it. The Leaky Cauldron was, of course, the entrance to the Alley and where Mr. McNuller had left us, but it was also quite the most pitiful bed and breakfast I had ever stepped foot into, in either life. It really did live up to its name. There was water dripping from one of the corners and I’m pretty sure it was causing green mold to form-it was dark, lit with (what would you know) candles, casting shadows on the faces of the occupants. The ceiling creaked as guests walked upstairs (and really, not even a silencing charm?). Most of the residents, the few there were, didn’t bother looking at us, but one or two did eye mein Vater’s Anzug with greed. The innkeeper, Tom, was a very friendly fellow, guiding us to the brick wall out back and opening it up for us, proudly telling us as he did so that since Daisy Dodderidge had first opened the inn back in the 1500’s, it had hardly been changed.

“Ja,” said meine Mutter, crinkling her nose as we passed dead flowers, “Ich kann das sehen.”

Mein Vater, in contrast to meine Mutter, was gazing around the dinky building with such fondness that I felt my eyes water. How long had it been since he had last been part of this magical world? Did he often wonder how different his life would be if he had magic? He hadn’t spoken about it to me since I was very little, before he thought I would remember, but seeing him now, hearing his excited gasp as we walked through the brick wall, told me just about everything I needed to know.

“We need to go to Gringotts first,” he declared abruptly. We had been standing on the other side of the brick wall watching the hustle and bustle of the Alley as mothers towed their children around, teenagers walked around in clumps from store to store, each and every person appearing to tote around books before using a wand to decrease their size. The buildings were smashed together, crooked, colorful, bursting with life both old and new.

My heart jumped.

This was truly happening. I was magic and about to go to _Hogwarts_. I was about to get a wand, wear weird clothes that had moving patterns (if I so chose), and do _magic _with a _wand_. How terribly incredible.

I squeezed mein Vater’s hand and on we walked down cobbled streets, around corners, twisting this way and that around robed figures until we arrived at a towering snow-white marbled building with bronze doors that were open. Two small figures with absurdly long fingers, goblins I would assume, stood in red outside the doors. As we walked past them, one shifted to the side allowing us to read the inscription on the silver doors that were slightly past the bronze ones:

_Enter stranger, but take heed,_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors,_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware,_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

Thoroughly warned, meine Mutter und I stepped a little bit closer to mein Vater, who did not in fact take heed, and strode into the bank as if he owned the place. Probably not a very good look for him, in the eyes of the goblins at least. Meine Mutter would obviously disagree with this, as she pinched his butt co_quettishly__. _

I gagged. Loudly.

At once, dozens of eyes were on our trio, taking in our muggle appearance. It was rather rude. So I stuck my tongue out at them. Tongues clicked against mouths disapprovingly, but they turned around. Counting it as a win, a smiled smugly at mein Vater, who merely rolled his eyes and tugged us onward. 

I’ll admit, the long, extremely tall tables, large chandeliers, and length of the hall was rather impressive. In a pretentious way, of course.

We walked up to a slightly taller goblin than the two outside. He had a long white beard, small golden round glasses, and was dressed in a grey suit. Literally, the only color was gray. From his bow tie all the way down to his shoes. Something needed to be done about this. Something _would _be done about this. It was only a matter of time.

Seeing us coming, the Goblin went behind one of the long desks near the back of the building (we were unable to see him for a few seconds) before coming to sit on a chair that placed him above our height.

“Mr. Grayscale,” _Jesus Christ, _I thought, “I’m not sure if you remember me, but my name is Michael Carter. Several years ago, my father created a bank account for any children I might have?”

Mr. Grayscale peered at us uninterestedly through, _dear God, _gray eyes-you know what, no. For the sake of my sanity, they were an extremely light blue.

“Yes, I recall.”

We stood in silence. Behind us, there were murmurs of other customer, the clink of money being weighed. Mr. Greyscale did not seem a very talkative person.

“Yes, well, I wanted to get into it.”

“We will need a blood sample for that.”

“Why on earth-” began meine Mutter before Papa shushed her. Nonetheless, Mr. Grayscale narrowed his eyes and replied-

“A blood sample to prove you are who you say you are and not an imposter, of course, Mrs. Carter.”

“And just how long is that expected to take?”

“Only a few seconds. Unlike muggles, goblins have perfected blood tests.”

This sounded false, and I opened my mouth to say so, but mein Vater clapped his hand over it.

“Nein, Ada.” He turned his gaze back onto the goblin. “Very well, Mr. Grayscale, I’ll let you take some blood.”

The answering grin was bloodthirsty. It sent shivers down my spine.

“Oh, no,” he said, leaning forward. At some point he had attained a very thin, sharp blade and was holding it out toward me expectantly, “Not from _you.”_

I thought about it for around two seconds before holding out my pointer finger. If blood was what was needed to get past security and into our account, then blood is what I would give.

Mr. Grayscale nodded approvingly, grasped my short fingers in his too long ones, sliced my finger open, snapped his fingers for bandages to wrap around it, and placed the knife with the dripping blood onto a sheet of paper he had already had out. This was all before meine Eltern could say anything else.

My eyes watered, and I cradled my finger to my chest. That hurt like a _bitch. _I was never trusting anyone with a knife again.

“Ada!” they shouted.

“Shit,” said mein Vater.

“What kind of business-” began meine Mutter.

“It seems there is a problem,” Mr. Grayscale informed. “Miss Carter’s blood does not appear to match her esteemed Grandfather-“ and here was the damning part, “-or Mr. Carter’s.”

Well shit me rainbows and kick me sideways.

I looked up at my parents who were looking far more nervous then I had ever seen them.

“Was-was meint er?”

My eyes were still watery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meine mutter- my mother  
mein Vater- my father  
Großvater- grandfather  
unser Familie- our family  
heißt- called  
Richtig- right  
Ich möchte nach London fliegen- I would like to fly to London  
Tante- aunt  
ja- yes  
anzug- suit  
vier stunden- four hours  
ihre- her  
Fotographie- photography  
einhundert- one hundred  
ein- a  
oder- or  
ist- is  
zue sein- to be  
Couleurs élancées (french)-soaring colors (I used google translate)  
vierzig- 40  
seined- his  
sakko- jacket  
Auf Wiedersehen- goodbye  
was meint er- what does he mean


	3. Schokolade, Mint, Nuss

It had been a sunny Tuesday morning.

As far as mornings went it was fairly usual. I had been laying in my small bed, looking around my room with interest because I always noticed something new about my tiny room in the mornings. On that day I had realized my bed covers had a startling bright pink on them. It was very pretty, and I remember having the thought that it reminded me of my older sister’s rug. From when we were kids of course.

My hands were suddenly too small and pudgy. My hair far too short, barely past my ears, and I was wearing a diaper that was damp.

Two worlds collided.

Was I twenty-three? Was I three?

Where was I? Was I home? Where was home?

My parents were Joseph and Anna, but my _parents _were Michael and Emmaline.

How had this happened? Why? Why to me? Why now? How? What about my family?

_What was I going to do?!_

At mein Vater’s prompting, Mr. Grayscale lead the three of us into a private room. It was down some ominously lit hallway and I think one of the windows we passed showed we were two stories up, but I don’t really remember the journey to Mr. Grayscales private office, because I was crying, und meine Mutter was crying, und mein Vater looked like he was about to start crying. It was a truly miserable walk, und embarrassing now that I think about all the people who witnessed it. Ah well, who hasn’t cried in a bank at least once, am I right?

In any case, once we were all seated, Mr. Grayscale once again having the tallest seat, we got down to business.

“You were adopted,” meine Mutter blurted out. “That doesn’t mean you’re not our child though. You _are. _We’ve been raising you since you were one. We _love _you.”

“We should have told you earlier,” mein Vater added, “Once everything about you being a witch was brought forth. I-I guess we just didn’t want you going off to school hating us.”

“H-hate you,” I gasped out, “Why would I hate you?”

“For keeping it from you.”

“That’s-that’s so-so,” I hiccuped, “That’s so _stupid. _Of course I wouldn’t hate you. You guys are my _parents. _Ich _liebe Sie_.”

“Then why are we all crying?” My mother, who was crying louder than me, cried out.

“I don’t know!”

“Lieber Gott,” mein Vater sagt.

“My finger was hurting, and then the whole adoption thing was brought up, and I’m a witch, and Professorin McGonagall is a real person in this world, and we kidnapped someone’s dog…its been a very emotional few weeks!”

“I know it’s…hard to come to realizations like this, Lieber. Aber du musst stark bleiben. You have us, and will always have us, ja? Let us know what you want to do right now, and we’ll do it. Want to not go to Hogwarts, fine. Want to find your birth parents, it’ll be hard, but we’ll do it. Want to finagle our way into this bank account, you bet your biscuits.”

Mr.Grayscale shot him a look.

I looked at mein Vater, trying to blink back tears. As far as motivational speeches went, it was no where near the top ten, aber, I knew he was doing his best, and I loved him for it.

“We also did not kidnap the dog,” my mother added solemnly, “we merely relocated Louis out of that terrible storm last Thursday.”

“And haven’t found the opportune time to give him back,” my father added.

“The both of you are terrible people,” I deadpanned, but my eyes were dry for the most part and I was holding their hands. So I knew it was going to be okay. Maybe not now or even later, because it hadn’t fully soaked in that I was _adopted_, but I was going to be okay. Ich weiß es.

“As touching as…this is,” came the cold voice of Mr. Grayscale. All three of us glared at him. “Miss Carter is still not the granddaughter of…Mr. Carter’s father. There will be no finagling into this bank account, unfortunately for you.”

Vater rolled his eyes.

“Well,” I responded slowly, four pairs of eyes turning towards me-because apparently the gray owl shaped clock on the wall was sentient and creepy as fuck, “did he explicitly say that I had to be blood related?”

The goblin leaned back in his chairs, folding his fingers together. His beady eyes were narrowed. “He did not clarify on the matter.”

“So…if we provided the proper legal documents that stated I was the daughter of my parents in all things but blood, it would prove I was my grandfather’s granddaughter?”

Mr. Grayscale hummed. “Perhaps. Though uncommon, _muggle_ legal documents regarding the acquisition of a child not of your blood are upheld in wizard court.

“Unfortunately,” he sneered, “you are here for but a few hours before going back to Deutschland. I do believe it would be far too difficult to retrieve your documents, come back to Gringotts, have the papers processed, and then buy your school supplies before the start of term.”

“How long does it take for the papers to be processed?” Meine Mutter was clutching her bag.

“Thirty minutes at the most.”

I nodded my head, impressed despite myself. Magic was great for doing a lot of things, but meine Tante had always said businesses and governments were the same no matter muggle or wizard-slow and inefficient. Obviously, the goblins were the exception.

I heard the crinkling of paper and turned to watch meine Mutter unfold several sheets of paper with lots of words on them. She handed them to Mr. Grayscale. Mr. Grayscale looked at the papers. My father gave my mother a ‘what the fuck, when did you get those’ look. As did I actually because honestly, Mutter-you don’t tell me I’m adopted yet you bring the papers? Really?

The chair behind the desk skidded across the floor-causing me to jump a little in my seat at the sudden contrast between silence and noise. Mr. Grayscale stood up and proceeded to glare at my mother as he walked out the door.

“So,” I began after a few tense minutes had passed, “where was I born?”

Apparently, I was born in England, though they had only discovered that durch Professor McGonagall und sie magical book of babies mit magic. I was adopted in Deutschland at the age of one after they had moved there permanently, which explains why I don’t recall living in an orphanage. Huh, even mit mein memories of my last life, the universe can still throw me a curveball. That was-hmm, that was nicht gut. Überhaupt nicht gut. I was going into this clusterfuck of a school on the assumption I knew what was going to happen. Obviously, my biological parents weren’t going to play a big part in my life, maybe one day I would want to meet them but I wasn’t ready for that quite yet. The point is, what exactly did my birth do to the world? A beat of a butterfly’s wings can cause a hurricane on the other side von die Welt. So what will the birth of a whole ass human due to a book plot?

Lieber Gott, what have I gotten myself into?

“Ada? Ada, Lieber?” 

“Hmm? Oh, ja, Vater?”

“Are you wanting to-”

Mein Vater was interrupted by the door opening-finally-revealing Mr. Grayscale in all his colorless glory. He stalked into the room, as much as a Goblin shorter than I can stalk that is. In his scaly hands he held far more papers than before. I groaned.

“Indeed, Miss Carter, this will be enjoyable for no one. Though if the three of you can listen to instruction, it should be over fairly soon.”

“And what are these paper for?” Meine Mutter asked while folding the adoption papers back into her purse. Ever since Mr. Grayscale had left the room, she had been steeling herself for his return. Muggle she may be, but she was not lesser than him and she would demand his respect.

“In order for the vault to recognize Miss Carter’s claim, all three of you will need to use a magically binding quill to sign your names affirming that you are who you say as well as agreeing to the terms and conditions on several papers.” He paused, picking up the top sheet to show to us. It had dark swirls on it that were moving, and I vaguely recognized one or two as runes. In all honesty, it reminded me far more of the seals in Naruto than it did anything from the Wizarding World. “Though child acquisition papers are legally upheld in court, Mr. Carter comes from an old family and the blood of yourself, Mrs. Carter, as well as your daughter will be required for the proceeding. I would recommend signing first, I have no gift with healing magic.”

Mein finger throbbed as if to reaffirm the statement. I glared at him.

We got to signing the paper work and signing the copies. Time passed relatively quickly as Mr. Grayscale talked us through the papers-‘this one captures your magical essence so that in the future you won’t have to sign documents every time you enter’, ‘this one gives your consent to being their daughter’, ‘no, only Mr. Carter needs to sign this one’, ‘this is for your grandfather, Miss Carter, Do Not sign it’, ‘if you claim anything is stolen this insures the bank that you cannot lie if you know otherwise or are simply trying to scam us’.

“Now, Mrs. Carter, if you will please give me your finger.”

She held up her hands. “I’ll poke my own finger, danke.”

“It is necessary to use a ceremonial knife.”

Scowling she placed her left hand in his. “Of course. How could I have thought otherwise?”

He cut her finger, placing it in the swirling black runes. It was surprisingly underwhelming. I thought they were going to glow or something, maybe make a sizzling sound. Aber nein. No such thing. Mr. Grayscale simply held out his hand to me.

“Err, shouldn’t we clean the knife first? You know, germs and what not. Wouldn’t want a second bubonic plague to start or anything.”

“I have perfectly healthy blood!”

“Well, I’m just saying, Mutter! Germs are the assassins of the universe, the rules of the game could change at any minute.”

The three adults looked at me.

“Ada, what does that even mean?”

“It means, _Vater, _that I would like the knife to be clean before we go cutting up my finger even more. Ich will nicht mein Finger schneidet sein, aber falls es hat zu, I would at least like to not be transferred germs. Even though I’m sure Mutter’s blood is perfectly fine.”

Mr. Grayscale sighed. Snapping, the blood was cleared.

I gave him a deadpanned look. “Danke, Mr. Grayscale. I’m sure that did the trick.”

His eyes narrowed. “It did.”

After cutting my finger, again, Mr. Grayscale held his hands over the papers, muttering under his breathe. The runes did glow this time. Faintly enough that it was still underwhelming, but Mutter gasped in surprise so I guess it was _kinda _cool. Then all the papers disappeared in a whoosh of wind.

“The paper work and blood has been added to the system-” Which, what? How exactly did that enter anything into the ‘system’ at Gringotts? Like, did it go to goblins working in different offices to be looked over? Or maybe a folder or something somewhere. And why was it glowing in the first place? What about the runes? “Allow me to lead you to your vault.”

The three adults stood, but I stayed sitting. Thinking.

My Großvater was a pureblood with an obvious distaste for non-magical humans. Hence my father being thrown out of the family for being a squib. How would he react to my being adopted into the family? If mein Vater was my biological Vater, then obviously I would be welcomed- Großvater did set up a vault for me after all-but with adoption… What was my blood? Muggle born? Half-blood? Probably not someone with pureblood family magic running through my veins. Otherwise why would I have ended up in a muggle orphanage?

No. I could not rely on mein Großvater to keep my vault open. But perhaps, maybe, I could still use the money.

“Mr. Grayscale,” I began as they opened the door. “How much would it cost for me to open my own vault, free of my Grandfathers observation?”

The door clicked shut.

“Approximately 5 galleons, 1 sickle, and 6 knuts.” He moved back around to his desk slowly, looking at me with dawning, dare I say, respect.

“Ada, what’s this all about? I’m sure there’s no need-”

I couldn’t see them standing behind me, but I was pretty sure my dad had just grabbed my mom’s hand to quiet her.

“And how much money am I allowed to pull out of my current vault.”

“No such limitations were placed.”

I raised my eyebrow at him, because really? No limitations? That was just asking for trouble Großvater. Tsk tsk. Trouble might as well be my middle name you know.

“Nice,” I stated. “I would like to open my own vault with the money in my current school account. Today, please. And then I would like you to transfer all the money in my current one over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years Everyone!!  
I haven't edited yet! And I know it's short but don't worry! Next chapter we meet Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks!  
Ich liebe Sie- I love you  
“Lieber Gott,” mein Vater sagt -Dear God, my father said  
Lieber- dear  
Aber du musst stark bleiben- But you must stay strong  
ja- yes  
ich weiß es - i know it  
mit- with  
nicht gut- not good  
Überhaupt nicht gut- that was not good at all.  
von die Welt- of the world  
danke- thanks  
aber nein- but no  
Ich will nicht mein Finger schneidet sein, aber falls es hat zu- I don't want my finger to be cut, but if it has to


End file.
